Rekindling
by busy pushing up daisies
Summary: -Sometimes, the man in the moon has no say in these kind of matters.- Harry meets some strange folk and finds, to his surprise, time doesn't adhere to them either.
1. Chaptah One

-sometimes, the man in the moon has no say in these kind of matters.- Harry meets some strange folk and finds, to his surprise, time doesn't adhere to them either.

* * *

1. The first time Harry dies, he wakes up in horse manure, gasping and coughing the vile excrement away, and stands up. The man tossing the crap in with a shovel, stills with wide eyes, then, they narrow with annoyance, and he snaps, "What do ya think yer doing in there? Get out, out."

Harry does not argue, stumbling out of the stall while wiping away at his clothes, the smell is nauseating. Behind him, he hears the man mutter to himself, "How'd he get in there?" Harry swallows, finger brushing over stone in his pocket, and knows.

2. Harry is two weeks into his new life when he comes to the revelation he is not in the same world. It is in the mannerisms of the people, the newspapers that claim he is back in time, but he cannot find any semblance of magic. Oh, yes, he can still do magic, but there's a dull ache to it now, and where his wand used to spark with excitement, now it complies with his demands listlessly. Harry is two weeks and one day into his new life when he dies, again.

3. Death will not accept him, though he accepts it himself, and spits him out every time he rests. Harry has stopped trying to die, instead seeking warmth in a world he wants no part of. Unfortunately, it seems the world doesn't want him either, offering new complications and technologies he has no inkling about, and is it really any wonder that he grows cold?

4. When he does, somehow, manage to settle down, make new neighbors, new 'friends', they dislodge themselves from his life just as quickly when they realize he doesn't age. 'Strange boy,' they say, stare at his skin in awe and disgust. When he meets people, they part, giving him suspicious glances. The children are the only ones that allow his company, and even then, the adults usher them away, muttering about strange boys with ill intentions. The reactions remind Harry of a certain year in his life, and all he wants is to drown, yearns to be invisible, invincible against people that cannot see him, cannot reach him with their poisoned words.

Eventually, he is. He doesn't quite understand it, and does not wish to. All he acknowledges is that he is invisible, _free. _Is it really any wonder that he grows wary of warmth?

5. Eventually, Harry learns to liberate the past from his mind, release the painful memories. It only hinders his outlook on life, when he suspects the trees of listening to him, when he suspects every dark color to wear a white mask. It is best to let go. Eventually, the memories release him as well, lets him enjoy his freedom. Sometimes, he grows lonely, wishes for some company, but then he remembers how people react to strange beings, and he swallows the wish on his lips.

This is how Harry lives, and when he meets people that threaten his calm control, his pattern, is it any wonder he grows frightened?

* * *

The children laugh and fight in the snow, warmth distilling the cold in the air. Harry tastes bitterness well in tongue, swallows it, as he watches the children play. Some endeavor to play in the ice, and Harry whispers his warning, though he knows no one is listening. The ice threatens to crack, and Harry watches with hooded eyelids when a boy slips and crashes his bottom into the ice. The wand in his hand gives a dull twinkle, and he ignores it, listens to the cracks in the ice.

Their voices raise in unison, alarm ringing their tones, shouting for some obscure figure to save them. He swears one of them stares at him, but Harry is still, bitter that Death would accept them and reject his advances to the next realm.

Except, the ice mends itself quickly, cold filling the holes, and Harry watches with wide eyes as the newcomer taps his wooden stick onto the thin surface, murmuring about irresponsible kids.

_Magic_, he thinks hopefully, but he quells the thought, doesn't allow the hope to swell.

They laugh and greet the silver haired boy with warm smiles, shouting about how they knew he would come, and the newcomer replies, disgruntled, about how he doesn't have time to save them all the time, but there is a quirk to his lips that suggests otherwise.

Harry sighs suddenly, watches his breath form in the air, dancing. Sometimes, Harry grows bored of watching, instead of participating, but it is a factitious thought.

One of the kids, a young boy with brown hair is moving his arms in eccentric motion, talking about how he's missed the silvered haired boy -Jack, he hears-, and leans in to whisper, for a moment, Harry swears the boy meets his gaze.

Harry leans in with interest, though he's far from them, as if he could listen, but there is nothing but the sound of snowballs collapsing against a target, shouts of indignation and giggles. Harry wills the conversation to carry to his ears, and his wand replies eagerly, but the action is too late, as the boy leans back and Jack cocks his head to the side. Jack lifts a pale finger to his lips a mocking gesture, and Harry frowns.

Jack disappears then, legs lifting with ease, and the wind slaps against the ice at his will, and he's gone. Harry straightens in confusion, eyes skirting the skies for his figure. He sighs when there's nothing.

A tap to his shoulder jostles him, and Harry, so rusty from any interactions with a human being, jumps up, fingers curled around his wand, and swivels around to aim the wand at the intruder.

Some strange expression skirts over Jack's face, a disturbed tone to his eyes, before they clear, and he lifts an eyebrow, lips quirked.

The smile does not ease Harry's tension, and his fingers tense on his weapon.

"What are you doing out here?" Jack asks, leaning on his staff, squinting his eyes at Harry. Harry is silent, anxiousness curling in his stomach at the idle threat.

"You can see me?" he says, finally, loosens his hold on his wand.

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" Jack replies, cocking his head to the side, curious.

"No," Harry replies, too quickly, and Jack's eyes narrow for a brief moment.

"He's been here everyday," says someone from behind him, and Harry curses his slow sensory, back stiffening.

"I said I'd take care of it, Jamie," Jack says, rolls his eyes. The boy skips over to Jack, grinning.

Harry's heart aches and starts at the realization that they could actually _see_ him, and his head turns to the other children without his consent, heart beating.

"They can't see you," Jamie says, slowly, carefully. When Harry doesn't reply, he continues, "I tried talking to you once, but you disappeared before I was even five feet away."

Harry remembers the day well, and curses the weak memory away. Was his invisibility slipping away? His hands curls around the cloak in his pocket, it would be so easy to flee, but he resists the urge to fly.

"Yes, well, you're not supposed to see me," Harry says, finally.

Jack narrows his eyes at that, eyes roaming over his figure, before saying, "I didn't realize you were a spirit, although, it is kinda obvious."

Bemusement curls Harry's brows. "I'm not."

Jamie tugs on Jack's shirt, leans in to whisper conspiratorially into his ear, but Harry catches the words anyways.

"I don't think he _wants _to be seen."

A strange expression possesses Jack's face again, before clearing.

"If you're not a spirit, then what are you?"

Harry doesn't have an answer to that. His wand tingles in his hand, and without hesitation, he disaparrates. The crack echoes.

Jack finds hims several days later, and Harry does not bother to explain himself.

He is watching the forest dance, when he comes with a burst of wind, and Harry shivers with the passing cold.

"Neat trick, you got there," Jack say jovially, sitting down beside Harry's perch on the tree. Harry doesn't reply, though his fingers find his wand.

"Calm down, kid," Jack says, "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Harry bristles at 'kid', but lets it slide, the boy doesn't realize how ancient Harry actually is.

"Anyways," Jack continues when it's obvious Harry won't talk, "Jamie's worried about you." Harry finds it hilarious that a boy he's only conversed with once would give a care about him, but appreciates the sentiment all the same.

"Offer him my thanks," Harry says, lifts his hand sluggishly, "but, I'm fine."

"It's not just him," Jack replies and Harry slants a look at the other boy. "Look, I know what you're going through, trust me." Harry forces the sneer down.

"People, usually," here Jack's lips grin softly, and Harry knows he's referring to Jamie, "can't see me. But, it gets better."

Harry snorts and Jack turns to him with a frown.

"I appreciate the concern, _Jack_, but you're mistaken. I don't want to be seen."

Jack hums in reply, probably wondering how Harry knew his name, eyes turning to the bristling trees.

"What's your name?" Jack says, and Harry stiffens, uneasy about giving it, but offers it anyways.  
"Harry."

Jack inquires, "Just Harry?"

Harry can't help but laugh, and Jack starts at the sound.

"Does it matter, really? It's just a name."

Jack gives a him a long stare before replying softly, "No, I guess it doesn't."

They sit together for an imperceptible amount of time, enjoying the silence and the contentment it brings. When Jack leaves, cold lifting to depart with him, Harry offers a smile, which Jack blinks at but returns. Admittedly, Harry is curious about the 'spirits' and the strange beings that exist in this world, but he knows that what Jack uses isn't magic (it feels different, colder) and that knowledge dims his questions.

Too bad the same can't be said for Jack.

* * *

**A/N: **can't let go of the awesomeness of this movie, seriously. glad it's already so popular. i'm fifty percent sure this will remain gen unless character development suggests otherwise. i still suck at pairings, so, yeah, don't know if even that guarantees anything. reviews are appreciated, and will probably get me off my butt to update sooner :P. like it? dislike it? should i continue?


	2. Chaptah Two

Harry dreams, sometimes. Nothing nightmarish, no, there is nothing to fear anymore. All those memories, dull and heavy, shoved into some small corner of his mind, tucked into a crevice- it is better this way, he is sure. All his fear is locked in that corner. When Harry dreams, he dreams of inane things, a deer he saw in the woods, a color he cannot recall when he wakes up, numbness, a pain, such small things, and he treasures those moments. It makes him feel alive when death cannot. He forgets them the next second.

But, this time, when he wakes up with wide eyes, and shaking fingers, he recalls the dream easily, with a dry throat and burning eyes. There are some hazy moments, but the most prominent figure is the voice.

The dry, rusty, voice, drawling, "You're missing something." He remembers the skeletal fingers on his arms, bones clicking to the pulse in his veins, and a whisper. "Try to remember, Potter. What are you missing?" Its fingers tapped against pale skin, impatient.

Harry started, it had been so long since he heard that name, and shook his head vaguely. The fingers tightened, sharp edges digging into soft flesh, and it has been a while since Harry bled.

"Try harder," the voice rasped, harsh, "you aren't trying." Harry moved to argue, but his voice clogged in his throat, and only air escaped his lips.

"Useless," the voice had said, and its hold disappeared. When Harry turned to look, there was nothing but a mirror.

Oddly enough, it felt like deja vu.

* * *

_Missing, _Harry muses, examining his hand, where thin skin outlines bone. _Missing. _The word does not spark any forgotten memory, induce any emotion, yet, he can't help but think his whole life has been directed towards that word. _I'm missing something._ The wind tousles his hair, and Harry smooths down the tresses absentmindedly.

"Found you," someone sing songs, and Harry slants a look to his visitor. It's him, again.

"You," Harry replies, a soft sigh on his lips, "what do you want?"

"Oh, nothing important," Jack replies, a mischievous grin lighting up his features. He leans forward abruptly, snatching Harry's glasses from its perch. Harry frowns, but lets Jack fiddle with the spectacles.

"Whoa," the blurry figure says, hands spread out as if he were a blind man, "you have really horrible vision."

"Thanks," Harry drawls, holds out his hand, and his glasses are dropped into his waiting palm, cold.

Jack settles down beside him, cross legged, watches him closely. After careful speculation he turns to his surroundings.

"You pick the weirdest places to hang out," he murmurs offhandedly. The trees stretch above them, skeletal branches reaching for sun, and winter has long since stolen the leaves away.

"Yes, well, no one asked for your company," Harry retorts defensively, and he notes how immature he's acting. Jack blinks, leaning on his hands, "But you were thinking it." Harry ignores him.

Silence permeates, dead leaves rolling across the soil with the aid of wind. Jack clears his throat, eyes fixated on something above them.

"So, uh, think you're missing anything?"

Harry ignores how the familiarity of the statement makes him feel and regards Jack with a solemn look.

"Not that I know of," he says eventually, records Jack's reaction. Jack laughs, and Harry turns away at the sound.

"No? How do you explain this, then?" Harry stares at the smooth stone tucked in a white palm, and swallows.

"Where did you get that?" He loathes the way his voice cracks.

"You dropped it. The first time, when you disappeared," Jack elaborates, when Harry's face is -carefully- blank.

"Really?" Harry queries, lightly, working to keep his face muscles from twitching. If he estimates correctly, then that would've been, at least, _at least_ a week. It always comes back the day after. Always. No matter how much Harry smashes it against the tree, throws it into a rushing river, it always comes back.

But, this time, it didn't. It didn't. Harry exhales slowly, to the point where Jack starts in concern.

"Hey. You okay there, buddy? Are you angry?"

Harry blinks. "Why would I be angry?" Jack falters at the question, before shrugging, eyes drifting away.

Jack lifts his hand again, "here."

"Keep it," Harry says, shifting from his position on the ground, straightens, ignoring Jack's protests.

"Wait- where are you going?" Harry stills, as if contemplating before ambling back to Jack. He looks relieved at Harry's return, before frowning in bemusement at the cloth deposited into his arms.

"Consider it an early Christmas present," Harry says, and his wand seems to liven at the absence of the cloak, lighter. He is more hesitant on leaving the cloak behind, it is a memoir of his father, but it's for the best, he's sure.

With that thought fresh in his mind, he leaves them behind.

* * *

He drowns, cold and blue seeping into his lungs. There is a better,faster way, he knows, but it was the only thing his mind could supply him with when he was finally _gone_, free, unburdened.

It is cold and Harry closes his eyes to blue.

Something harsh, angry presses against him, burning. Harry chokes at cold fingers clasped around his throat, unforgiving.

_Wake up._ Harry ignores the insistent voice, lips pressed together tightly. _Wake up. _Something scratches his heart and Harry coughs. He wakes up to frosty fingers slapping his face, and when his vision clears from its murkiness, he screams.

* * *

"I'm fine," Harry snaps when Jack hovers above him, brows creased in concern. Jack snorts at that, jumps away to some branch, before leaping to another one. He returns quickly, wind disturbing the pile of leaves that had gathered, and opens his mouth to speak, before faltering. Jumps away again.

Harry eyes the blurring figure, lips twisted. He gives a forlorn sigh when he spots the cloak folded neatly at his feet, the stone set on top.

"Can't ever get away," he mutters, closes his eyes as he leans against the tree.

"From what?"

Harry opens his eyes to a stony face. "Pardon?"

"Can't every get away from what?" Jack elaborates, setting his wooden staff beside him.

"Nothing," Harry says, finally.

Jack snorts at that, and Harry shoots him an annoyed look. Jack's face is harsh, where there once was a light smile tugging at his lips, now they are still, cold. Hurt. Harry drags a hand across his face, irritated and for some reason, guilty.

"Bugger," he says, shakes out his wet hair, and turns to Jack slowly. "Look, why do you even care?"

The question only irks Jack further, pushes him up from his seat on the floor. Harry resists the urge to groan.

"I'm sorry I didn't want your death on my conscience, _Harry_," he says, and the wind shifts to the cadences of his sentences, ice frosting along his footsteps. Harry glances at his back, face pinched in irritation. He thinks it's better not to mention he has died many times prior to meeting Jack.

"How did you even find me?"

Jack tenses, and makes some vague gesture with his hands, murmurs, "that thing." Harry's eyes trail the direction Jack's finger is pointing, and widens when he finds the stone. His face pales, and he says, "What do you mean 'that thing'?"

"What does it matter?" Jack is snapping, walking to and fro, "I'm more interested in the fact that-" He falters when Harry's fingers clamp on his shoulders. Vaguely, Harry notices Jack is cooler than the average human, a slight shiver in his fingers at the change, but he waves the thought away for more pressing matters.

"What happened?" he insists, eyes intent on Jack's, whose eyes flicker uncertainly. A moment later, Jack knocks his hand out of the way and says, "How about a deal, hmm? You answer some questions, and I answer yours."

Harry agrees reluctantly.

"Alright, so, me first," Jack says, drags his staff across the ground where they draw snowflakes among the debris, "you say you're not a spirit, right?"

"I'm not, is it my turn now?"

"Nope," Jack says, cheerfully, waving a finger, "that doesn't count." He leans his chin on his staff, body lurching forward, "And I know you're not human, so, then, what are you? Or, better yet, what do you _think_ you are?"

Harry frowns at the last statement, but takes the question into consideration with serious thought. He quells the urge to ask why it matters, and rubs his temples.

"What makes you think I'm not human?" he says, finally, when he can't find an answer. He wants to say human, but _I must not tell lies _rings in his head and his tongue stills.

"Well, you can do that strange transportation thing of yours," Jack says, slowly, as if talking to an incompetent child, "and people can't see you. There's more, obviously, but I think, from your face, you get the point."

"I'm a spirit, as you can tell," Jack continues after a silent beat, "but more importantly, I'm a Guardian."

Harry replies, "What, like a guardian angel?" Resists the urge to chuckle. Jack blinks at him, before allowing his lips to tug upwards.

"Angel? Far from it. I'm surprised you don't know what the Guardians are. Have you been living under a rock?" He settles across from Harry, one arm looped over his knees.

_I haven't been living at all._ Harry waves the depressed thought away, self-pity will get him nowhere. He's just glad the topic diverged from him.

Jack clears his throat and says, "The point is why did you try to drown yourself?" His tone is light, too cheerful, and Harry wavers. Maybe he wasn't as subtle as he thought.

"I was just," Harry falters. "I was just testing something."

"Maybe I should have frozen the water for you. For testing," Jack hums sarcastically, quirking an eyebrow.

"I didn't drown," Harry says and ignores when Jack scowls, "and it's my turn, anyways. How did 'that thing' help you find me?"

Jack still looks upset, but complies, picking up the stone, and lifting it to his eyes for close inspection. After a dull beat of silence, in a bemused tone, "I can't remember."

"What do you mean 'I can't remember'?" Harry says, carefully.

"I can't remember," Jack repeats more firmly, depositing the stone back to the cloak.

"Anything?"

"Anything," Jack agrees, mirth dancing in his eyes, as if he was starting to enjoy annoying Harry.

"And you're not the least bit upset, because?" Harry sneers.

Jack shrugs. "Not my problem."

Harry ignores the snide voice, tucks the stone into his fist, and waits. She comes again, transparent figure dancing to the wind. She's looking at him, with those disappointed eyes, and he wants to shout. Resists the urge. She never talks to him anymore.

Jack waves a hand in front of him, concerned. "Hey, you still there?"

He releases the stone back onto the cloak, doesn't watch as she disappears. Harry wonders if Jack has any loved ones he wants to see, scrutinizes the silver haired boy. He decides not to pry, the only thing that will come from it is pain, and Harry doesn't really want to know.

"Are you angry?" Jack asks.

Harry regards Jack carefully, before replying. "No, I'm just tired."

Jack sighs, and Harry watches the frost liberate from his mouth. Harry doubts Jack can forget how it happened, but magic doesn't work systematically, and all possibilities need to be considered when a- Harry doesn't want to say muggle, because Jack has a magic of his own- stranger is put into the equation. Either way, it looks like Harry is going to see Jack a lot more now.

* * *

_Thanks to the amazing Von for 'beta-reading'!_

**A/N: **finally updated, as promised. hope you enjoyed and thanks for all the positive feedback, i'm flattered! will try to update soon. tell me your thoughts :).


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